


Humans

by cynicalcryptids (orphan_account)



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Basement Gerard, Bottom Gerard, Death, Frerard, M/M, MCR, Murder AU, Psychopath Frank, Top Frank, Torture, Violence, but that's in later chapters, frank iero - Freeform, gerard way - Freeform, just be aware of these things if they may trigger you !!!!!, my chemical romance - Freeform, please don't read things that will make you uncomfortable, very VERY kinky sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-17 08:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12361191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cynicalcryptids
Summary: Frank Iero is a psychopath, and Gerard just happened to get in his way.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> greetings and happy saturday the 14th  
> welcome to my trashy murder au frerard fic  
> this is actually an idea i've wanted to write for a _very_ long time (since the summer of 2015) but i never really liked how my previous attempts panned out, not even making it past the first chapter without tossing it directly into the Garbage Can of Shame and freaking out because i could never get the characters right  
>  but now, with help from my boyfriend and a wild spark of inspiration, i plan to continue this story and stick with it
> 
> xo cera

The blood was still warm, Gerard could feel it smothered and coagulated on his hands. He was shaking visibly, slumped in the passenger’s seat of a car that was alien to him as the driver—the killer—swerved on tight turns and ran red lights. With a look at the clock, it was past midnight, and the sirens screaming were all that kept Gerard in the car rather than dissociating somewhere else, escaping the trauma and disappearing into his own mind.

“Pass me my fucking pistol!” said the man behind the steering wheel, shoving out his right hand to Gerard in a gesture that meant _now._

Hands refusing to work, sweating, bleeding, crying, Gerard grabbed the handgun and held it out to his kidnapper, his eyes catching glimpses of tattoos through the blood cracking and drying on his arms. The Virgin Mary seemed to follow his gaze as the man fired rounds right out through the window, barely missing Gerard’s head, breaking police car glass and sending car alarms into panic.

“What the fuck?!” Gerard screeched, flinching severely and covering his ears with his hands, bloodying dyed black hair.

The gun was then turned on him, as the man whose index finger was capable of ending everything gave him a cold glare.

“If you fuck this up, your life is wasted. I don’t have time for this bullshit, alright?” 

A sharp left, and the cops were tailing closer in the rearview mirror, calling for backup that would soon catch up to them. The gun was fired again but soon emptied of bullets. With an aggravated sigh, the man threw the pistol down at Gerard’s feet.

“God dammit, we gotta ditch this fucking car,” he cursed, cutting through a sketchy gas station parking lot and into some backwoods on the edge of the not-so-good neighborhood of town. He crashed the car into a tree and, not at all fazed by the impact, grabbed his yellow duffel bag that presumably contained his entire life.

“Get out,” he ordered, pulling a knife from his boot and gesturing for Gerard to exit the car through the only door that was still openable after the crash, the passenger’s side door.

Intimidated and shell-shocked, Gerard fumbled with the car locks and handle until his feeble body spilled out onto the autumn leaves, his knees scraping on gravel. The unnamed boy jumped out behind him, combat boots thudding, and towered over him for a moment. He leaned down to force Gerard up by the collar of his Smashing Pumpkins t-shirt, making sure he knew that his only other option was to face death.

“I’m Frank. I just killed your parents. Do you have any fucking clue what they do to guys like us in prison?”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to the people who read and left kudos on the first chapter  
> i know it was super short, but i hope it whet your appetite for what's to come  
> i plan to update every week, or more frequently if i have the time  
> if you would like to check out the playlist that i made for this story, click the spotify link and give it a listen, it might help set the mood for the fuckery that's about to ensue  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/rainbowninja9021/playlist/2SsgG5Uxr1AsiVxNgvpHKc  
> and please _please_ feel free to leave some comments/criticism/predictions below, i would love to read them  
>  aaannd of course, enjoy chapter 2 (sorry if it's shit)
> 
> xo cera

Held at knifepoint, the younger boy was shoved through the forest, legs nearly giving way whenever dirty converse slipped on dead leaves or tripped over tree roots. The cold air sent goosebumps up pale skin, eyes too dry to produce any more tears of agony and hands covered in blood, and only some of it was his.

If it weren’t for the edge of the serrated blade jabbing at his back, Gerard would have assumed he was already dead. Frank was always there to remind him how he was not so fortunate.

This wasn’t the first time Frank had faked his own death, but reaching into his bag, a realization washed over him. He had nothing but guns, ammo, knives, and clothes. No food, no first aid, no money. He cursed quietly to himself as he lead Gerard along, shoving him to the left to change his course, causing the boy to yelp in confusion and protest.

“What was that for?”

“We have to make a detour.”

“Detour!? You couldn’t have just said, ‘Hey, Gerard, buddy, oh lovely friend of mine who I’ve just orphaned, could you please take a lef—‘” Gerard snapped, causing another sharp sting in his lower back where blood was sure to have followed, resulting in a pained gasp from the boy. Frank noted that Gerard’s name was really dorky.

“Did I stutter? We’re making a detour. Last I checked, you were far from my friend. And last this town checked, we’re both deceased. Don’t fuck this up, don’t make me repeat myself, and follow my fucking directions.”

They walked in silence until bright lights appeared blearily in Gerard’s vision, his eyes squinting just enough to be able to read the obnoxious sign. It looked out of place on a desolate dirt road, a haunting part of town Gerard had never made any trips out to see. It was obvious though, that Frank had been here before, he seemed all too familiar with the streets and those obscure backwoods. He knew exactly where to turn and what trees to avoid face planting into. Come to think of it, Frank had familiar eyes.

Meanwhile, Frank was rummaging through his weapons, unloading a revolver with a slight of hand that Gerard didn’t seem to notice. He then clicked the cylinder back into place audibly, causing Gerard to look to the noise, as Frank stood up and grabbed his shaky wrist, forcing the gun into his hand. If all went according to plan, Gerard’s lack of gun experience would leave him unable to discern between a loaded and unloaded revolver, and Frank would test just how much Gerard wanted to stay sane.

Gerard just stood there, wondering if this was the detour.

“Wh-what’s this for?” Gerard questioned, hesitation clear in his voice.

“I need you to do me a _big_ favor,” Frank began, “You think you can handle that, sweetheart?” But Gerard’s head was already shaking back and forth as he tried to give the gun back to Frank in immediate refusal.

“Uh uh uh,” Frank looped Gerard’s fingers around the trigger and forced him to point it at himself.

“This is a true or false question, pretty boy. We have a Quik Mart to rob.”

Frank was lighting a cigarette, muttering a flimsy, ‘good luck,’ and Gerard was gulping down anxiety, reluctantly swinging open the door. The bells jingled mockingly at him when he entered and the blond man behind the counter lowered his Playboy magazine and coughed to signify his presence. Gerard tightened his grip on the gun when they locked eyes and he then realized how much he wouldn’t be able to do this. But why die without robbing a gas station first?

“Can I help you?” The man, labelled ‘Bob’ by his name tag, questioned, unsettled by how rattled and beat up the boy appeared to be.

Gerard glanced outside, Frank was halfway through his cigarette, biting his lip and watching on expectantly. He made a vague ‘hurry the fuck up,’ gesture and rolled eyes like it was so straightforward. Looking back at the cashier, Gerard found a new sense of determination in himself when he pulled out the gun at pointed it directly at Bob’s head, hand wavering and eyes pricking with tears.

“Hey, whoa! Whoa, dude, what the fuck?” The man yelled, standing up and stepping back, throwing his arms up above his head in surrender.

“Just—empty the c-cash register,” Gerard blurted, his fingers playing with the instinct of pulling the trigger.

It was at this point that the Quik Mart cashier realized that the teenager performing the half-hearted stick-up had absolutely no idea what he was doing, and with an easy examination of the gun, Bob had figured out it was unloaded. But of course Gerard hadn’t.  
“I said, empty your fucking cash register,” he repeated, this time in a sterner tone. He fixed a sweaty grip on the revolver and stepped closer, urging, threatening. 

“Listen, there’s no reason to—“

“Do it,” Gerard said, trying excessively hard to keep his voice steady.

Bob said something to try and calm him down, lowering his hands slowly to reach the cash register that had little to offer. Gerard’s aim followed his heart, but Bob made a sudden movement that the boy didn’t expect. He took advantage of the moment and of Gerard’s useless gun and tackled him, pulling him over the counter and into the area in which the employees stood when working the cash register.

Before Gerard even knew what was going on, Bob was straddling his chest, rough knuckles slamming into his cheek. 

“Wh—“ and another, busting his lip.

The taste of iron and the pain flooding his head were enough to make him want to pass out right there, his weak body felt like it was to collapse every time a hand came in contact with his face. But he heard bells jingle in his pathetic state, useless arms hitting tile and his eyes rolling when a bored and familiar voice made an entrance.

“Can I have two packs of uh…Marlboro Red’s. 100’s, not 72’s please,” Frank requested with a sigh, throwing money on the counter and running an inked hand through his hair. Bob didn’t respond, and Frank very obviously knew what was happening, it was not only audible, but he saw it all through the windows and neon open signs. 

“Never mind, I’ll just fuckin’ steal ‘em,” he said, feigning annoyance, hoisting himself over the counter littered with postcards and lottery tickets and knocking practically everything over on his way. Gerard squinted up at the lights as Frank said something incoherent, making expressions that the lifeless boy couldn’t read while pulling that switchblade knife out of his boot. Quickly and without hesitation, Bob’s blood was spilling onto Gerard and his throat was slit so deep, it seemed like a half-assed decapitation.

Clothes ruined, nose broken, head pounding, and now even more traumatized than he was ten minutes ago, Gerard sat bolt upright, spitting blood onto the ground and shuffling himself away from the body.

“What the fuck?! Why the fuck, _how_ the fuck, wh—“

“Is that your entire vocabulary?” Frank looked blank, grabbing his cigarettes from the shelves.

“You just fucking killed that dude! And you feel nothing?” Gerard was baffled, not even able to stomach the blood pooling near his sneakers.

“Yeah? Well, you were going to kill him too, or at least you thought you were,” Frank started, shoving the cigarette cartons in his duffel bag and picking up the revolver that skidded away from the scene. He fiddled with it, exposing the chamber and crouching down to Gerard’s level, who was retracted into the fetal position.

He revealed his trick, even dramatically shaking the gun to prove its emptiness and Gerard’s stupidity.

“Why?”

“It was a test, I knew you weren’t going to go through with it either way. Couldn’t risk it being messy if you failed,” Frank shrugged, “But if you were to pull the trigger, to try and take a human life, that…would have been a pleasant surprise.”

He put the gun back into his bag, reaching out a hand to stroke Gerard’s cheek, smearing more blood on his pale skin and admiring the contrast. Gerard shuddered, trying to scoot away but there was no room. He hit his head and Frank chuckled.

“You know that you know too much, Gerard. And you know that I can’t let you leave now. But I have plans for you. I have big plans.”

Frank moved his fingers to Gerard’s nose, gripping the sides of it and snapping it back into place.


End file.
